


sensory deprivation for drones

by ninemoons42



Category: Star Trek: Voyager, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alone in Space, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Space, Borg - Freeform, Bruises, Come Marking, Cybernetics, Established Relationship, Hallucinations, Hand Jobs, Holodecks/Holosuites, Hurt/Comfort, Lap Sitting, M/M, Marking, Regeneration, Spaceships, Star Trek/X-Men AU, Technobabble, Transhumanism, radiation poisoning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-11 13:18:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/799167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninemoons42/pseuds/ninemoons42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a ship, and it's far away from its system of origin, and one of the things that it needs to do to get home is cross a nebula that emits powerful poisonous radiation.</p><p>Luckily, there is one crew member who can live in these deadly conditions, at least in the physical sense - so everyone else puts their lives in his hands.</p><p>Now, the question is, can he survive with his mind intact?</p>
            </blockquote>





	sensory deprivation for drones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pangea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pangea/gifts).



> This fic is written for [Pangea's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Pangea) birthday, and incorporates her requests: "Captain's chair sex, Star Trek AU, top!Erik". 
> 
> My major Star Trek series is Voyager, so in this fic Charles's character takes after Seven of Nine's. Emma is the ship's captain and Erik is the XO. The ship's Emergency Medical Hologram is female, and takes on a name in the course of the fic. 
> 
> Plot notes taken from the Voyager episode ["One"](http://en.memory-alpha.org/wiki/One_\(episode\)). Erik's holographic captain's chair looks like [the one in these gifs](http://ninemoons42.tumblr.com/post/45419198355/i-think-everybody-had-a-seat-in-the-captains).

“Personal log, Unit-Designate Xavier-Charles,” he murmurs when his regeneration cycle is up. “System malfunctions have caused this unit to lose track of time. Onboard conditions are degrading at a slow but steady pace, and this unit is having difficulties with tracking and repairing all flagged problems. Thirty days have passed since entering the Mutara-class nebula. The Emergency Medical Hologram has been inaccessible for five hours. The ship is still alive, but barely, and this unit along with it.”

He looks around. The cargo bay is dark, except for a pinlight in his alcove. He does not need visible light to navigate the corridors - there is a map of the ship’s interiors hard-wired into his cortical implant, and it has been seeing hard use in the last few days - but he could almost wish that he could turn all the lights on, if only to pretend that he is not alone.

But that is his problem: he has been alone on the ship for hours now. He’s been alone for a month, truth be told, because even when the EMH had been available she had only been a simulation of actual companionship. He remembers the conversation in which she had finally decided to take the name “Moira”, after an intense course in Greek mythology - the last real conversation he’d had with anyone since this whole mission began.

He thinks of the ship, and he thinks of the stasis pods. Of all the decks on this ship it is Deck 14 that he has been watching over most carefully, and never mind the strange emotions that the task seems to call up in him. He’s been diagnosed as feeling nervous and determined and fearful all at once, and he thinks, now, that Moira has been right after all. It had been remiss of him to ignore her warnings and concern.

A quiet voice speaks to him: an audible hallucination, he thinks, and he wishes he could dismiss this - if only the voice didn’t speak to him encouragingly. The voice is that of Commander Erik Lehnsherr. 

“You’re not alone, Charles,” the voice says, as it has every day since he placed the actual Commander in his stasis chamber.

If he thinks hard enough, Xavier-Charles might almost be able to remember the warmth of the Commander’s hands around his, the tightness of the man’s grip, the desperate reassurance in those all-too-human [all-too-frail] eyes. Another thing that he wishes he had not dismissed: he’d do anything now to find that emotion, whether he finds it within himself or from some other source.

He hobbles out of his alcove now. There is a phaser rifle on a nearby workbench; it’s heavy in his hands where he never used to have problems with any kind of weaponry before. The ship presses around him, but he cannot sense anything in it: nothing that lives, nothing that functions correctly.

Perhaps not even himself, he thinks, and he goes back to Deck 14.

Here are the stasis pods. Here is Commander Lehnsherr, and here is Captain Emma Frost. If he lifts a panel on each pod, he can see their faces, lined and hollowed by their long sleep - but thanks to his desperate work on the ship they are still alive, and they will continue to be alive, once they have left this nebula, once he can wake them up.

He touches the glass over the Commander’s face. A brief longing for contact. Something else is wrong with his implants if he is reacting this way. They have made it this far, and they might yet survive. The astrometrics lab is still in working order, and the data from the relays shows that there are only hours left until they can leave the nebula.

Xavier-Charles keeps a tight grip on his phaser rifle with one hand, and wraps the other arm around his own midsection. The contact is nothing at all like the Commander’s touch. He sinks into his awareness of the entire ship, to which he has been connected since the beginning of this long month, and which now wraps around all of his senses: the only way he has now of knowing what “reality” might be.

He counts the seconds and the minutes off in his head. Hour after hour. He watches desperately over the sleeping crew. 

*

_Alert: Mutara-class nebula has been cleared._

He does not open his eyes. He can barely hear himself when he speaks. “This is Unit-Designate Xavier-Charles,” he rasps. “Begin cleanup routines. Calibrate and stabilize radiation levels; restore to preset tolerances. The crew will not be released from stasis unless the ship is completely decontaminated.”

 _Working,_ the ship says. _Reroute power to Emergency Medical Hologram?_

“Yes,” he whispers. “She will have a lot of work ahead of her. The crew must be looked after.”

_Sensors indicate failing energy levels in Unit-Designate Xavier-Charles. Regeneration is required._

“No time,” he mutters. “Crew first.”

“I think you’re starting to learn something important.”

This voice is different: familiar and acerbic and, beneath it all, kind. A woman’s voice, a voice he hasn’t heard in a while. 

He doesn’t know why he is starting to feel relieved and light-headed and shaky; he adjusts his grip on his phaser rifle. He blinks hard, but to no avail: his surroundings are growing darker, an opposite condition to the fact that the ship is telling him about increasing power levels and ongoing maintenance.

_Radiation levels rapidly dropping. Approaching crew-specific tolerances. Commencing wakeup procedures._

“Not until everything is all right,” he says, barely able to hear his own words.

Something hisses softly nearby. He feels the impact of feet on the deck, moving toward him.

Why are the voices that he can hear so far away?

“Is everyone okay?” “Did we make it?” “Check the others, get them woken up.” “Doctor, we need you - ”

He wants to tell them that they can call the EMH _Doctor Moira_ now - but he cannot see, and he cannot take the next breath - the world is receding from his senses, and he is falling.

The last thing he hears is a voice calling his name: “Where’s Charles - CHARLES!”

He should know that voice, he should respond to it, but his strength fails him at last.

Blackout.

***

Erik paces back and forth in the cargo hold. 

By now he’s memorized the sequence of lights in the nearby regeneration alcove; by now he’s more than inured to the odd cold of this particular part of the ship. Charles doesn’t really feel heat or cold as the rest of them do, and since the alcove functions more efficiently at lower temperatures, this deck is cooler than most, the better to help him with his rest routines.

With each pass, Erik glances at Charles’s face, soft and slack in repose. The lights blink comfortingly, a specific series of green indicators.

Charles was placed in sickbay for several hours after they emerged from the nebula, then moved back to his regeneration alcove; Erik blinks away the memory of watching Captain Frost and Doctor Moira personally escorting the gurney down the corridors. Charles had looked so pale, then, so worn out. 

Duty had kept Erik at his own station, making sure all the repairs to the ship’s systems were proceeding at the correct pace, and as soon as he’d been relieved by one of the other engineers he’d come straight down to this deck - and he hasn’t moved from it since.

Out of the corner of his eye he notices the flicker of light that usually heralds the appearance of the EMH. He doesn’t stop in his pacing, just says, quietly, “How is he?”

“He’ll be fine,” Doctor Moira says, and he catches a brief glimpse of a smile that she probably thinks is encouraging. “But after a prolonged period of stress like that, you would think that it makes sense for him to need an equally prolonged time to recover.”

“I know, I know,” Erik says. “I just can’t help but worry.”

“A sentiment shared by most of this crew,” she says. “Many of those who are still in sickbay are asking me to make sure that he will be fine, because he overtaxed himself on their behalf.”

“He’s the only reason we’re all still alive.”

“You won’t find me disputing that.” Her smile shifts, becomes somewhat conspiratorial. “So when he comes around, you’re under orders to make sure he is soon fit for duty again. This comes direct from the Captain, mind you.”

“Does everyone on this ship know about us - ”

“No, Commander. Only the ones who matter: only the ones who are your friends, and I’d like to think I’m one of those.”

“You are,” Erik says. 

“Good to hear. All right, I’m detecting signs of him waking up,” and the EMH hooks a thumb over her shoulder. “He’s all yours.”

She winks out, and Erik steps up to the alcove.

Charles blinks, takes a deep breath, and shakes all over for a second before opening his eyes. “Unit-Designate Xavier-Charles,” he murmurs. “This unit is - ” He falters, then looks up, and Erik is torn between stepping forward and stepping away, because there is _fear_ in those star-hot eyes. “The crew, Commander - tell me about them, tell me about Captain Frost. Is everyone - ?”

Erik takes a deep breath, and meets his wide-eyed, frightened gaze. “We’re all alive thanks to you,” he says, again, and this time he tries to keep his voice steady. “You got us all out of that nebula, safe and sound. And thanks to you, we’re fifteen thousand light-years closer to home.”

He watches Charles step forward from his alcove. There are lines in his face now that were not there when Erik last saw him. “It is good to hear that. This unit did all it could.”

“And more,” Erik says, meeting him halfway, taking both of his. “We are grateful to you. _I_ am grateful to you.”

Charles looks away; Erik watches him almost shrug. “It was close. This unit almost reached the limits of its endurance.”

“Let’s not think about that,” Erik murmurs. He presses closer, presses a kiss to the side of Charles’s head. Soft hair and warm skin under his lips. “You are to return to duty in twelve standard hours. The Captain will want to meet you then in the astrometrics lab.”

“This unit will be there,” Charles says. “In the meantime, what is there for this unit to do?”

“I’m glad you asked. You can keep me company. Engineering is letting some of its newer people take over some of my work - Quested says they need seasoning, a little hands-on experience, so my off-duty cycle has been somewhat extended.”

“Then you should be resting,” Charles says, but not unkindly.

“I’ve had enough of sleeping for a while,” Erik says. “I’d rather be wide awake and I’d rather be with you.”

“This unit is here,” is Charles’s ready answer, delivered in his usual straight-faced manner - but his hand reaches for Erik’s.

Erik nods, and leans down to claim a real kiss from him - he coaxes Charles’s mouth open, carefully, and he wants to smile when Charles sighs quietly and returns the kiss, affection for affection, ardor for ardor.

“I want to show my appreciation,” Erik says when they break apart for a breath. He doesn’t want to step away from Charles, though, so he’s elated when Charles leans up, their foreheads touching. Charles’s cortical implant stays cool against his own heated skin. “Come with me?”

“Yes,” Charles says.

Only a few crewmembers are out in the corridors at this time, but almost all of them nod or smile their thanks at Charles.

“They are - kind,” he says when Erik steers them into an unused turbolift. “It is most - ah - gratifying.”

Erik only smiles, and directs them to one of the holodecks. “Load _Lehnsherr Four_ , please,” he says as they pass through the doors.

“The bridge, Commander?” Charles asks as soon as the images coalesce around them. “Why is it empty?”

Erik laughs, softly, and walks toward the command chair; he stands behind it and puts his hands behind his back. “I don’t think anyone minds the two of us kissing or holding hands or generally being next to each other - but I have something a little different in mind for right now, for which I’d prefer privacy - and a locked door.”

He watches as Charles glances over his shoulder, looking at the arch over the holodeck door. “We’re not getting out until I key in a specific code; we’re safe here.”

“That is Captain Frost’s chair, or an image of it,” Charles murmurs after a moment.

“And it’s fairly comfortable, I can tell you that from personal experience,” Erik says. “Did you try it?”

“No.”

“Would you like to?”

He feels his smile turn into a smirk as he watches the expressions crossing Charles’s face - curiosity warring with his accustomed neutrality. 

“Come on, you know you want to,” Erik teases gently. “Or would you like some kind of incentive?”

Charles raises an eyebrow at him. He’s missed the expression. “Such as?”

Erik takes a seat in the command chair, and pats his knee. “If you sit here, you technically won’t be in the chair itself.”

That wins him a sliver of a smirk. “This unit does not quite approve of your abuse of semantics, Commander,” Charles says - but he crosses the distance between them.

Erik puts his arms around his waist and draws him close. “It seems to me that we’ve been in a situation like this before.”

“You asked this unit to sit in your lap, on your bed, approximately one and a half standard months ago,” Charles says, primly. “It was - an enjoyable experience.”

“Glad to hear that,” Erik murmurs against the nape of Charles’s neck. “Perhaps you’d care for a repeat?”

“Is the door locked?” Charles asks.

Before he replies, Erik kisses Charles’s temple. The tendrils radiating from the cortical implant remain cold against his mouth. “You know it is.”

“You are alone with this unit?”

“And right now I only want to be with you,” Erik says. “I need you, Charles.”

“This unit - ”

“It’s all right, Charles, it’s just you and me, and it’s not wrong to say - ”

Charles blinks, slowly, and presses forward, and Erik lets him lead this kiss, softly desperate, like wildfire igniting between them from one single powerful spark. 

_“I need you,”_ Charles says at last.

“I’m here,” Erik says, fervently, and he runs his tongue over the warmth of Charles’s collar bone, making Charles gasp and sway towards him. “I’m here. You protected me. You got me out.”

“Erik, Erik,” Charles whispers, hands kneading convulsively at his shoulders. “Please - ”

“Tell me what you need,” Erik says as he works his hands past the layers of Charles’s uniform. 

“Touch me,” Charles says, and Erik looks up into his face then: high red flush staining his cheeks and his ears, eyes dilated so the blue is little more than a thin rim around endless dark.

Charles whines softly when he leaves a trail of kisses from cheekbone to throat, relieving Charles of his shirts in the process. He runs careful fingers over skin and implant and scar, listening carefully to Charles’s reactions, employing kisses to both calm him down and work him up.

How he ends up with his own clothes on the floor he has no idea - he’s just glad to be naked, eventually, and he admires the way the light catches on Charles’s skin once he’s completely undressed as well. 

“I wish to carry these marks around for a while,” Charles murmurs, sounding delighted when he finds a livid mark on his chest, caused by Erik sucking enthusiastically at his skin. “I will make sure that the regeneration routine will not affect this.”

“You do say the best things,” Erik teases, and his reward for that is Charles throwing back his head and laughing, a real sound, a joyous peal in the holographic bridge.

After that, it’s easy: Erik greedily runs his hands over every available inch of Charles’s skin, much to their shared delight; Charles seemingly cannot get enough of their kisses, which get filthier and filthier as the moments pass between them, breathless and excited.

“Erik tell me what to do,” Charles keens.

“Can I come on you?”

“Please,” Charles whispers, and then he’s sliding out of Erik’s lap, onto his knees, his hands moving unerringly to Erik’s cock, hard and dark red with need.

Sparks in Erik’s field of vision, almost enough to blind him with desire, but he forces himself to keep looking down at Charles, who jacks him off in a steady, maddening rhythm, driving him onward, leaving him dazed and shocked and all he can say is Charles’s name, over and over, broken whispers until he comes at last.

He blinks, coming down from that terrible excruciating high, and after a moment he realizes that Charles’s face and throat and part of his shoulders are striped with his come. White against pale skin and silvery metal - the sight of it leaves Erik shaken, leaves him wanting another go, leaves him helpless against the urge to pull Charles back up and into another series of wild kisses.

“Orgasm looks good on you,” Charles opines later, and Erik pauses in the act of - well, he can’t tell whether he wants to wipe his come off Charles’s face, or smear it in even more so it _stays_ on him.

Charles takes that decision out of his hands by picking up some of the fluid on his own fingers, sticking them into his mouth. “You also taste good - strange, but good.”

“You - you - ” Erik sputters, and eventually he lapses into vague obscenities, and then a quiet laugh. “You are amazing, Charles.”

“Thank you,” Charles says, and this time his kiss is gentle. “I’m glad to be with you, Erik.”

“And I you, Charles. Don’t you ever leave me.”

“I will not.”

Erik lets Charles hold on to him, and he doesn’t let go, not even when his exhausted body lapses into sleep - some part of him feels Charles’s skin warm and _present_ against his, and is content.


End file.
